


Five Times Eric Was Late

by Severina



Category: True Blood
Genre: Community: prompt_in_a_box, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 19:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8502814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: Like, oh, almost every Eric/Sookie fan on the planet, I hated the coda at the end of the series finale. So this story continues from that backyard Thanksgiving dinner, and gives my take on how their story really ends.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's prompt_in_a_box community, for the prompt "mother". I should note that I did not rewatch any of the episodes, so... I honestly can't recall what happened to the notion of Kings/Queens/The Authority after S5. Just go with the flow, mmkay?
> 
> * * *

Five Times Eric Was Late  
By Severina

01\. Thanksgiving

He'd planned to drive to Bon Temps, but at the last moment Eric takes to the air. He can feel her pain through their bond, a constant low-level ache that seeps through his consciousness and permeates his blood. He feels her contentment as well, but his blood knows only that she is hurting and demands that he be by her side. 

He lands unnoticed in the back yard, streaks through the doorway and into the kitchen. She is bending into the open refrigerator door, one hand reaching for something on a shelf and the other bracing her lower back. He leans over her before she is aware of his presence, his arm light on her waist and his lips cool on her cheek.

"Sorry I'm late," he says.

Sookie gives a little shriek of surprise before she straightens and smacks him playfully in the chest with the hand that is not holding a pie. "I'd really like to _not_ go into premature labour, thank you very much," she scolds.

Eric has done much research in the past seven months on the gestation period of human females and knows that the chances of such a thing are miniscule at best. He takes the pie from her hand and tucks it behind him onto the counter before sliding his hands onto her stomach. The child within her arches toward the pressure. "You are in pain," he says.

"Always," she says with a snort. One small hand covers his where they rest on her abdomen. "And let me guess. The king's man kept you waiting."

"Leopold's representative sent word that he had been 'unavoidably detained' and rescheduled our meeting for next week," Eric tells her. He does not mention the two hours that he spent waiting in his chair at Fangtasia, each minute crawling by slower than the last, watching the bloodbags writhe and squirm on the dance floor in a pathetic attempt to gain his attention while his every nerve ending thrummed with the need to be near her. He does not mention his worry over what this visit from the King's envoy may mean, or what the delay may indicate for himself or his Area. 

"Politicians," Sookie says with a roll of her eyes.

The child shifts inside her, presumably in agreement with its mother's flippant disregard of vampire affairs. He feels nothing from Sookie but cool confidence – in him, in their world – and her conviction makes him figuratively straighten his spine. No matter what Leopold wants, he will keep her safe. Always. 

He bends to her, brushes her lips. She tastes of honey and sunlight and sweet apples, and he wants nothing more than to bend her over the table and take her. He contents himself with deepening the kiss, ignoring both the child's restless protest between them and the thunk of the door as someone enters the kitchen. He floods their bond with his love for her, for the child, and feels both of them respond in kind. Her fingers dip into the hair at the nape of his neck and she rises on her toes to seek for him better, and he only releases her when he feels the renewal of the twinges of her pain. Still, she only smiles at him when he gently sets her back on her feet. 

"I missed you too," she says.

He cannot help smiling back at her. If there was a mirror handy he would no doubt see that it is the smile that Pam refers to as 'goopy'. He would punish her for her insolence if she wasn't correct. 

Sookie grins again, then pats his hand before slipping her bulk around him to reach for the pie on the counter. "Grab the other one from the fridge?" she asks.

He is bending to comply with her wishes when the intruder in the kitchen speaks up.

"Need any help?" Mark asks.

Eric looks up in time to see Mark's hand brush against the swell of Sookie's hip.

He doesn't think. He hears himself growl, feels his fangs drop, and in a microsecond he has slammed the man into the wall. He lifts his arm until the man's feet dangle inches from the floor, and his hand tightens around the man's throat until his skin begins to turn an interesting shade of purple beneath the wild overgrowth of facial hair. 

"Eric!" Sookie squeaks in protest from behind him.

"He is not to touch you."

"Eric! Let him go!"

He wants to squeeze. Wants to rip the man's throat out and let him slump to the floor where he will gurgle and grope for his last breaths. Wants to tear his head off and watch it roll across the sparkling tiles.

"Eric!" Sookie says again.

Sookie would never forgive him. Reluctantly he releases his grip, lets the man slide gasping to the linoleum. He turns away when Sookie rushes forward, when she pats at the man and murmurs soothing words and directs him through the door to the back yard, where the rest of her guests laugh and drink at the long table beneath the stars. He curls a hand around the back of a chair and reminds himself not to crush only when he hears the squealing protest of the wood.

"Eric," Sookie finally says. "What the hell?"

He rounds on her then, standing in her kitchen with her hands fisted on her hips. "He dares—"

"Dares what?" Sookie says. "Believe it or not, Eric, people touch me all day. Complete strangers think nothing of coming up and touching my belly all the damn time! It's like they think pregnant ladies are just fair game for poking and prodding."

Eric shakes his head. He will not be sidetracked. "He is presumptuous," he rails. "He takes liberties. Just because he is the father of the child—"

"Oh please," Sookie says. "He jerked off in a plastic cup."

She is perhaps the only woman he would let interrupt him in such a manner. But he will not be silenced. On this, he will not bend. He leans over her – looms over her – and forces her to meet his eyes. "He is _not_ to touch you."

"Eric." His name drops softly from her lips, tinged with equal parts exasperation and affection. "He's my friend. _Just_ my friend. I work with him… or at least I did until I got as big as a house," she says. "He did us a favour by agreeing to be the donor. It's nothing more than that. You know that."

Perhaps intellectually he does. But the sight of the man's hand on her raises something primal and instinctual in him. He wants to crush her to him, rub himself against her, rut with her, erase every last trace of the man's scent from her skin. He knows she will not allow it – not here, not now – and so says the only thing he can think to say, even though he never knows how she will react to such pronouncements, especially since she became with child. "You are mine," he says.

"And you're mine," she says. 

Her response is not what he expected. His brow creases when she smirks at him. 

"Now, about Mark—"

The growl escapes his lips before he can suppress it, but Sookie just huffs out a breath. 

"Do you I need to remind you that he's married?" she asks. She ignores his flashing eyes and lowered fangs when she presses her warm palms to his cool cheeks and directs his gaze into the yard. "And gay?"

She does not need to 'remind' him of anything. If she knew the dossier he has on the man she chose to father the child she would hiss and spit like a house cat, which is exactly the reason the file is kept safely password protected on his private server. He can't deny, however, that seeing the man now nuzzling into the arms of his partner – another late arrival, apparently – he is forced to admit that perhaps he has overreacted. 

He retracts his fangs and takes Sookie into his arms. "I will not kill him," he says begrudgingly.

"Well… thanks," Sookie says. "But I think you're going to have to bend a little further than that."

Eric feels his jaw clench. "I will not attack him as long as he keeps his hands to himself."

"Eric."

"Sookie," he says.

She sighs. "I'm going to hug my friends, Eric. And Mark is a friend. You're just gonna have to deal with that." 

He could deal with the entire situation by making a quick phone call to Pam, but then he'd have to listen to her bitch for the next two weeks about the swamp land around Bon Temps ruining another pair of pumps. And deposing of bodies was quite tedious. He's going to have to compromise. "I will not retaliate against any physical contact that you initiate," he concedes. He holds up a finger when she opens her mouth. "But you must also speak to him about… maintaining his distance."

He can tell that Sookie wants to argue the point, but over the years she too has learned the art of give and take. "Fine," she says.

He seals the deal with another kiss, only releasing her when she reluctantly pushes against his chest. "Pies," she says. "Our guests are waiting."

He bends down to nuzzle against her hair, and this time when his fangs elongate it's for a completely different reason. "I'm hungry, too."

" _Pies_ ," Sookie repeats with a laugh. He lets her pull away from the circle of his arms, but when she snatches up a dish towel and snaps it at him impishly the chase is on. She makes it halfway around the table before he has swept her up, giggling and murmuring false protests as he kisses her again.

And again.

He listens to her only long enough to whisk them into the bedroom. 

He thinks it's Willa who finally comes into the house to retrieve the pies.

 

02\. The Baby Shower

The house is easy to spot; there are pink and blue balloons tied to the mailbox, and a large 'Congratulations' banner pinned limply to the porch railing. Eric shakes his head at the gaudy display as he eases the 'vette behind a rattletrap pickup that looks like a leftover from the Eisenhower administration. Not that he was in the United States at that time; he spent most of that decade in Gabon, exploring its extensive caves and listening to Pam endlessly complain about how they were missing the Parisian fashion renaissance. He'd made amends by eventually glamouring Dior into gifting her with a dozen of his latest creations. Pam likes a freebie as much as the next vampire.

"We are late," Eric says as he turns off the engine.

"You could have left me behind."

"Oh come on, Pam," he says. "You know you want to be here."

"As much as I want a case of Hep V," Pam gripes as she gets out of the car. Her heels click angrily on the flagstone walkway. Eric follows casually behind and lets her stab a red-taloned finger at the buzzer. Releasing her frustration on an innocent doorbell is much better than the alternative, which could result in several fewer party guests and quite a mess.

"Well, here you are!" the redhead says when she opens the door. She clucks her tongue, perches a hand on her hip. "Sookie's been worried sick about y'all!"

Eric glances past the blinding dye job toward the living room, where Sookie is lounging uncomfortably in an overstuffed chair. He stifles an irritated growl. Do these fools not know that she requires firm surfaces and minimal padding in order to be restful in this last month? A small throw pillow at the small of her back is the only requirement. And the look on her face is definitely not 'worried sick'. He has had years to learn to read her, and this look is a combination of fatigue, mild annoyance and rising frustration, a look of too many hours stuck in a clapboard house with gossiping women whose unkind thoughts prick past her shields. His fingers flex in an unconscious desire to rip into those who've hurt her, but Sookie's eyebrow lifts – she can read him as well as he can read her, it seems – and he reels the instinct in with an effort.

"My apologies," he says to the woman. His voice is as cool as brittle ice, but he cannot be faulted for not being polite. "We were delayed. Picking up a gift." 

"You didn't think to call or somethin'?" the woman says. Pam's fangs run out at her tone, and Eric suppresses a smirk as the woman visibly pales under her garish makeup and takes a faltering step back from the open door. "Not that I blame you, what with cell phone signals these days and… gosh we were havin' such fun we might not have even heard the phone… 'course everybody's gone on home now, and—"

"Is this what happens to those children who eat paste when they grow up?" Pam drawls, turning to him.

He hears Sookie cover a snorting laugh with a cough that wouldn't fool even the smallest child – even one who eats paste – before he side-glances Pam and subtly points a finger. As much as he enjoys watching the tawdry redhead squirm, she _is_ Sookie's friend. Best not to antagonize her much further. He smiles pleasantly while Pam, albeit reluctantly, retracts her fangs. 

And waits.

"Arlene," Sookie finally calls from the living room, "you're gonna have to invite them in if I'm gonna get any help carrying these gifts."

"Oh. Of course," the woman says, but the look she gives them is cautious and wary. Perhaps she is marginally more intelligent than she has always appeared. At least that would explain Keith's attraction, not that the vampire has much sense anyway. "Welcome to my home. Please come in," she says stiltedly.

"Thank you," Eric says. He wastes no time in moving to Sookie's side, one arm out to help her from the ridiculous chair even as he hears the woman Arlene gasp at his speed. The gasp turns into a pathetic little whine, and he wonders what Pam is doing behind his back. She never could resist teasing the humans. But his attention is mostly focused on Sookie, whose hand is clutching his arm with an intensity that confirms the mental exhaustion that he can feel through the bond. "Are you all right?" he asks quietly.

"Just glad you're here," she murmurs back. Then she straightens, raises her voice and smiles. "And with a gift?"

Eric follows her lead, releases her arm and lets her stand on her own. If she does not wish the woman Arlene to know of her struggles, he will not call attention to them. "Indeed," he answers. He cocks his head. "Pam?"

Pam huffs impatiently, but leaves off whatever amusement she has found with the redhead to stalk forward. "Here," she says, thrusting a small wrapped box into Sookie's hands.

Sookie's eyes widen, and he can feel her surprise and fondness through their bond. "You bought the baby a present?"

"No, it's a discount card for Paul's Porn Emporium," Pam snaps. "Just open it, would you? I have a hot stone massage scheduled in an hour and I don't intend to be late."

Sookie grins and gives the box an exploratory shake, then puts Pam out of her misery by tearing into the paper. She stares in awe at the tiny item inside the box. "Oh my gosh, Pam, it's—"

"It's the rattle I had as a child," Pam says.

Sookie looks up. "You saved it all these years?"

"Of course not, what kind of sentimental claptrap would that be?" Pam sighs and tosses her long hair. "I had it reproduced."

"Of course," Sookie says dryly. "Because having someone craft a custom made reproduction of a 19th century rattle is not sentimental at all."

Pam shifts on her heels, but her unsteadiness at Sookie's logic is short-lived. "Only the best for Eric's child," she says smartly.

"Sure, Pam," Sookie says with a smirk. 

He doesn't need to be her maker to feel Pam's shock when Sookie steps forward to pull her into a hug. Pam stands stiffly in her embrace, and only when he gives her a deliberate look does she grudgingly lift an arm and pat Sookie on the back. She looks bored and uncomfortable and the situation is entirely too amusing, until her eyes widen and her expression morphs to alarm. Her lip curls. 

Eric's fangs drop and he immediately shifts into high alert, his senses stretching through the house and into the yard beyond. He can feel no imminent danger, and his gaze darts questioningly back to his progeny.

"It's… moving," she says with a shuddering look at Sookie's stomach.

"Yup!" Sookie steps back, a move that effortlessly puts her in reach of his arms, and smoothes a hand over her belly when he holds her from behind. He places a hand over hers and feels the child kick, and tucks his fangs away with no one being the wiser. Damn Pam. "All the darn time," Sookie continues. "The doctor says the baby should get into position soon enough, though. Only a few weeks left."

Pam shivers elaborately. "How… horrifying."

He snaps his head up, but Sookie just giggles. "I guess to a vampire it might be," she says. She pats his hand, then turns to face him and puts her back to Pam's expression of fascinated disgust. "So I guess you two are going to load these presents into the car?"

He hears the unspoken 'get me out of here _now_ ' plea without the need of any telepathy. No doubt the redhead is still bombarding her with unwanted thoughts. He inclines his head. "I will take charge of the gifts," he tells her before lifting his gaze to Pam. "Pam, take the car. I'll ride with Sookie in her vehicle."

The unorthodox suggestion wipes the horror-struck look from his progeny's face. "You're letting me drive the corvette?"

"I trust you, Pam," Eric says. And lest she take his generosity too frivolously, he holds up a hand in warning. "If there is a single mark, scrape, or dent, I'll take it thrice-fold out of your hide."

He hears the woman Arlene gulp. "He's just kidding, Arlene," Sookie hastens to assure her.

"No, I'm not."

"Eric!"

He merely lifts a brow. The basement at Fangtasia is still fully stocked and functional, after all. He leans down to brush a kiss across Sookie's cheek even as she splutters. "Gifts?" he asks.

Sookie waves a hand toward a pile of brightly coloured bags and boxes, but she's a stubborn one and he knows that she won't easily be distracted. She waves a finger at him. "We'll talk about this in the car," she says.

"Of course, lover," he answers smoothly, earning him narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow. With his arms full, he gestures toward the door with his chin. "Shall we go?"

She gives him an exasperated look, makes him wait until she has hugged the human and murmured words of thanks about onesies and diaper rash advice and cream cakes. She is finally on the porch and heading down the stairs when Pam stops and turns to the garish Arlene. "Thanks for the invite," she drawls out. "Maybe I'll stop by later and we can… get further acquainted."

"Pam!" Sookie admonishes.

Eric uses all the speed at his disposal to deposit the shower presents into Sookie's car; is back and easing her down the stairs with his hand on the small of her back before Arlene manages to finish gaping. It's a particularly unattractive look on the woman. But then, the skin-tight zebra print and high-waisted denim don't exactly help in that regard. Despite the open mouth, he can't help noticing that she also looks rather… intrigued. Eric smirks and wonders if Pam may have bitten off more than she bargained for, so to speak. 

Sookie, for her part, looks mortified. At least she'll have so much to talk about on the ride home that she'll forget to chastise him for being late. 

There's always a silver lining. 

 

03\. Childbirth

Her pain awakens him. 

Eric blinks, groggy and disoriented against the drag of the sun. He tells his body to move and for a long moment it refuses to obey him; when he _is_ able to swing his legs over the side of the bed, he sways in place. Then another bolt of pain hits him through the bond and he is out of the bed, striding the length of the room at speed, his hand tugging on the doorknob – and dropping away. 

His fangs snap into place and he growls in the light-tight space of his bedroom. The sound seems to echo off the walls.

Everything in him – his mind, his blood, his very nerve endings – demands that he go to her. And he is trapped.

He stalks the room, smashes a fist into the bedside lamp, tears the expensive sheets to tatters. Ignores the bleeds when they start and paces the room like a caged animal, his breath harsh in his throat, every piercing pain seeping through the bond and stabbing at him as though it were his own. 

When the sun finally dips below the horizon he stops only long enough to dress and clean away the blood. He will not face Sookie or the child looking like a madman, no matter how much he feels like one.

He flies through the night; moves so quickly that no one at the hospital sees him as he blurs through the door and up the stairwell; doesn't bother with niceties and quickly glamours the human at the nursing station to find Sookie's room number. He speeds through the halls and into the private room and… stops. If his heart could beat it would be triple-timing in his chest, bursting through his ribcage. 

Sookie lays curled on her side, one arm curled over her stomach, her eyes closed, her face pale with exhaustion. And near the bed, in a tiny glass crib, there is a bundle wrapped in a soft pink blanket.

He has a daughter.

 _They_ have a daughter.

He swallows, makes his feet move. Three steps take him to the bedside. His daughter screws up her face and blinks up at him with wide blue eyes when he carefully lifts her from the cradle, and he settles with her in the chair next to the bed. She is pink and wrinkled and barely the length of his forearm and nearly bald, and she would be the most beautiful thing he has ever seen if her mother did not already hold that honour.

"You're here," Sookie says.

He blinks, the most reaction he will give to cover the fact that he did not sense her awaken, his attention so focused on their daughter. Her voice is rough and ragged, and it brings him back to the afternoon, before the bundle in his arms, when she needed him. He imagines it is hoarse from screaming during the birth. Screaming in pain. Screaming for him. 

He glances at her and then ducks his head, hides from her by looking at the child. "Sookie—"

"Wouldn't you know it? I went into labour just before noon. My water broke right in the middle of Wal-Mart. So embarrassing."

He doesn't know what to address first – that she was out shopping so close to her due date when she should have been home resting, or that she was doing that shopping in Wal-Mart of all places when she has credit in any of a dozen Shreveport boutiques. But either of those things merely masks the elephant in the room, as the humans say, and he makes himself meet her eyes. "Sookie, I'm sorry," he says.

Sorry for the first time in his long existence for being what he is, for the restrictions placed on him by his very physiology. 

"Oh, Eric," she says. "You would have been here if you could have. I know that. Just our luck that she decided to come along during the day."

He nods. It is the logical answer, the reasonable answer, but it does not stop the crushing weight of disappointment that roils in his stomach and squeezes his heart. Soon it will help, perhaps. But now he can only feel the loss of the experience, the defeat of failing his woman, tempered though it is with the joy of holding his daughter in his arms. "Was there someone—"

"Jason stayed with me."

Eric frowns. Of all the people in her life, the last person he'd have imagined holding Sookie's hand and urging her to push the child out into the world would be her brother. Perhaps the redhead, or the witch with the angular face. But not Jason Stackhouse. 

She must read the look on his face, because the corner of her lips quirks upward in a smile. "I know," she says. "But he was great, for the most part. At one point he did tell me that Bridget had been through this a couple of times already and he didn't understand what all the fuss was about 'cause it didn't look too difficult."

Eric lifts a brow. "Does he still live?"

"It was close, let me tell you," Sookie says. She reaches out to swipe a finger gently across their daughter's tiny fist. "So… what do you think?" 

"She is… amazing," he says softly. The word is inadequate. There is not a word that can fully express how perfect she is, this tiny creature in his arms that is their own. He stares intently down at the child before he raises his eyes, locks his gaze to hers. "I will protect her, and keep her safe," he says fiercely. "Always. She will want for nothing."

Sookie's hand comes up to brush at his hair, to trail gently down his cheek. It is only when she moves her hand away that he sees the blood on her fingertips, and realizes that he is crying. 

"All she needs is her father to love her," she says.

He finds he must lay the child back into her crib and make his way to the bathroom. He would be discomfited by such a blatant display of emotion, but this is Sookie. If there is anyone who can see him at his most vulnerable, it is the woman he loves. 

"Lay with me," she says when he returns to the room.

The private room he arranged includes a large bed, big enough for two, but he still eases carefully in behind her once he has kicked off his shoes. She is still sore, her stomach distended, the scent of blood ripe and lush in the air. He drapes an arm cautiously over her waist, lets her adjust herself into the curve of his body. When she is comfortable he rests his head on his elbow, ducks to press a kiss to her pale shoulder and then leans his chin there. 

The child murmurs once and then settles down to sleep.

"What will you call her?" he asks.

He can see her eyebrows rise, and she twists her head to gaze up at him as best she can. "You don't want a say in it?"

Eric lifts a shoulder, and that seems to be enough for her. She bites at her bottom lip, then says, "I was thinking… Alexandra."

This time his kiss finds the pulse point on her neck. "Very pretty," he says.

"Alexandra Adele Northman," Sookie says.

His grip tightens on her waist. _Northman_. He has to swallow again before he trusts himself to speak, and yet his voice still sounds ragged when he does. "Perfect," he says.

She smiles, snuggles closer against him. Tells him about the ambulance ride to the hospital, the labour, the nurse that made her cry with happiness just by bringing her ice chips in a small plastic cup. He pets her hair and murmurs in the right places and five minutes later she has joined their daughter in sleep. 

He holds her, and whispers promises into her skin. He does not think about the King's envoy, or the phone calls from Pam that he ignored as he flew to Sookie's side. He concentrates only on his lover and his daughter. 

That is enough.

 

04\. Christmas Eve

It is the middle of the night before he lands in the front yard. The house is silent and dark, and he makes no sound as he speeds up the stairs and into his daughter's room.

She is swaddled in a blanket in the manner that Pam refers to as a 'human burrito'. His fangs had instinctively dropped when she'd made the comment, and he had already been turning to lash out at her when Sookie's surprised giggle had stopped him in his tracks. Such irreverence is apparently common among humans when referring to their offspring, and he had to clench his fists and turn away to prevent himself from upbraiding Pam for her impertinence. He held back in front of Sookie. Later, he made sure that Pamela was very clear that Alexandra was to be treated with the utmost honour and respect. 

Now, Eric stands at her cradle and watches his daughter as she sleeps. The enveloping blanket seems to comfort her as Sookie had promised, but still he does not move, does not blink as he studies her and assures her safety. He counts her heartbeats and breathes in the scent of her and ponders the wrinkles in her tiny forehead when she murmurs in her sleep; wonders what could possibly cause such lines of consternation in a child that is merely days old. It is precisely forty three minutes after his arrival that his daughter awakens, and he is grateful that Alexandra was born into this age of technology when he speeds to the kitchen and can warm a bottle of Sookie's milk in the microwave and be back to his child before the first of her cries can stir the air. Grateful that he can take her in his arms and feed her while she blinks sleepily up at him and curls her tiny fist trustingly around his finger. 

He has much planning to do back at the club, a dozen details to work out. Pam's mouth had drawn down in disapproval when he rose to leave – it is her existence on the line as much as his – but she knew better than to say a word. It's good that she is a more than competent second, because now that he is in Bon Temps he is mesmerized by pink cheeks and delicate lashes. He will not be returning to Fangtasia as he'd indicated to his progeny.

Alexandra has finished her milk and is again sleeping, this time in the crook of his arm, before Sookie wanders into the bedroom. She is so groggy that at first she doesn't see him. Her eyes widen in alarm when she sees the empty cradle and he feels a sharp tug of panic in their bond before her eyesight adjusts to the minimal light from the window and she notices him in the rocking chair. The panic recedes as if it had never been, replaced by a surge of warmth and love. 

"It's late," she says.

He's grateful, too, that she doesn't ask where he's been; does not question what has kept him away from her and their child on this night despite his earlier promises.

"Not for me," he says. He gazes down at the fuzz on the baby's head. "Not for her."

Sookie eases herself down into the overstuffed chair next to the rocker with an appreciative sigh. Her back still aches and he can smell the heavy flow of her blood, but she has never uttered a word of complaint in the days since their child's birth. She tucks a strand of long golden hair behind her ear. "We have a baby," she says after watching him with the child for a long moment, as if arriving at a stunning conclusion after much consideration of the facts. The smile that she gives him is wide and astonished. "Is that _crazy_?" 

He is over a thousand years old. He has always taken pride in his logic; his ability to value reason over emotion. All of that changed when a pretty blonde walked into his bar and treated him like a person instead of a vampire. 

It _is_ crazy.

Eric can only grin back before he rises to replace his daughter in her cradle. Then his woman takes her place in his arms, and Sookie's warm hand on his cheek impels him to bend to her, to take her lips in the gentlest of kisses. Her body calls to him and her blood calls to him and it will be weeks before she is able to accept his answer, but until then he can speed them both to their bedroom, hold her beneath the covers, nuzzle her neck and rub her body with soothing lotions and breathe promises of devotion into her skin.

He doesn't believe in a deity, but he still feels he's witnessed a miracle.

 

05\. The Christening

The double doors slam against the walls as he enters.

For a moment Eric is reminded of another grand entrance. That time he had discovered witches planning to raise the dead. He had mocked and threatened and they had turned his world upside down. In some ways, he considers now, he ought to be grateful. It turned out to be his good fortune that the late unlamented Compton chose him to visit the witches coven that night. And if Marnie had not been so weak perhaps he would not be standing where he is now. 

In a small clapboard church. To see his daughter accepted into her mother's religion.

The gathered guests have all turned their heads in surprise at the noise of his arrival. He sees the shifter start to rise in alarm before he settles back onto his pew like a good boy; the redhead jerk in her seat and her hand clench at her purse as though he were a common thief; the fangs of Bill's progeny run out until she marks who he is and relaxes her guard. He nods once at the gaping faces, attempts to straighten his frayed shirtsleeves, and then uses all his speed to make his way to the altar. He smoothes a hand through his flyaway hair before leaning forward to press cool lips to Sookie's cheek, to gaze down at their child clad in gossamer white in her arms. Alexandra sleeps on, heedless of the interruption in the service. 

His woman takes in the ragged gash in his shirt. The wound beneath has already healed but the stain remains on the white fabric, still dank and damp against his skin. Her eyes lift slowly to take in the dried blood caked on his hands, the side of his neck, his chin. When her gaze rises even higher he realizes he must also have blood in his hair, which explains why his fingers could not tame it. 

"Eric?" she says dryly.

"Sorry I'm late," he answers. "Slight problem with an out of town visitor."

Sookie raises a finely sculpted brow.

"It's been taken care of. All is well." He waves a hand. "Carry on."

He can tell that she is considering questioning him despite their surroundings. Their guests shift in their seats; her brother still gawps openly from the other side of the baptismal font. The moment hangs in the balance. Five seconds. Eight. Ten. 

Then Sookie blinks and plasters on a sweet smile. "Please, Reverend," she says, turning her attention to the shocked preacher. "Proceed."

Eric tunes out the words of the ritual, concentrates instead on the gloss of her hair, the sweet sunlit scent of her, the press of her warm palm in his. He puts aside the mess at Fangtasia, the envoy's deceit, the battle lust still surging in his blood. Tonight he must focus only on the needs of his lover, and this rite is important to her. 

Later there will be time to tell her that he is now King.


End file.
